


Unconditional

by MudaMuda



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/pseuds/MudaMuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy is a bit confused about a compliment Germany gives him. When Germany takes the time to explain his feelings towards his lover more precisely, Italy finds himself swooning in happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> This is so fucking sappy and cliche, and I apologize in advance. I wrote this a couple years ago, and I found it today while I was looking through my Google Docs.  
> I fixed it up a bit, but I feel like it doesn't make much sense. Fluff/romance is a pain in the ass to write for me, and this isn't even 1000 words.

They were sitting together on a grassy hill after training, talking together and watching the sun descend in the sky. It was during a long lull in the conversation that Germany suddenly turned to Italy with an intense look in his eye and said it. 

“You are beautiful."

"...What?" Italy said in response, smiling, but taken off guard by Germany's compliment. It _was_ a compliment, wasn't it?

Even now that he had said it, Germany was still staring at him with a very serious expression, like he was expecting something from him, but Italy could not comprehend the meaning behind the look.

"Thank you," was Italy's simple, but genuine reply.

Germany grunted a bit, but looked troubled, like he had more to say, but was unable to find the words. It was more than likely that he had exceeded his capacity for giving endearments, and was failing to think of a vague way to express himself romantically, to avoid saying something embarrassing. Italy bit back the urge to giggle at this, as he knew that if he laughed at him, Germany would go silent and bashful and his more delicate emotions would go forever unexpressed. 

“Germany," he asked instead, "Why did you call me that?"

Germany scowled; the tips of his ears going a bit red. "Can't you take the compliment for what it is?"

"Sure, sure. But I don't understand."

"Don't understand _what?_ " Germany grumbled, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment behind a gruff demeanor, as he always would when confronted with a romantic situation like this. 

Italy shrugged. "Why would you call me "beautiful", of all things? Why that word?"

"It's difficult to explain."

"Well, it's just, when I think of 'beautiful', I think of a pretty lady. Looks-wise, I mean," Italy elaborated, watching Germany's brow wrinkle in annoyance. 

"I'm sorry I offended you," Germany muttered, looking rightfully put-off that Italy had decided to pick this affectionate moment to think about pretty women.

"You didn't!" Italy waved his hands. "I think of other things, too, when I hear that word! You didn't let me finish!"

"Oh."

"Now women," Italy explained, smiling and winking a bit when Germany rolled his eyes. "--Women are beautiful, and... and so are the paintings in my galleries, and..." He thought a bit more. "...The snow-capped peaks of the Alps against a clear blue sky, and the first homemade bowl of pasta that’s set in front of you when you’ve eaten nothing but canned ravioli for the past month. ...You know?" he asked, when he saw the look of confusion Germany was giving him. "It’s different.”

“Would you rather I called you something else?”

“No, I liked it! I just want to know why you told me I’m beautiful. Why did you use that word? If you’re talking about looks, why not call me handsome?”

“Because that word does not describe how I feel.”

“What?”

Germany pulled at a blade of grass distractedly. “You’re beautiful like a woman, or the Alps, or… pasta, or whatever… It’s a similar feeling."

Italy hummed in thought, tapping his chin. “You think I look like a woman?”

"No, of _course n_ \--" Germany started, then paused. “Er, yes and no. Rather, that’s not what I meant by that. It’s more…” Germany’s face had turned a brilliant shade of pink. He ducked his head in embarrassment.

Italy waited patiently for him to collect himself. _How cute!_ he thought.

After a minute, Germany opened his mouth to speak again. “I think…” he started, carefully and barely audibly, as though the words were difficult to voice.

“What?” Italy leant forward to hear what he had to say.

“I think all those things invoke in me the same feelings of beauty as you do when I am with you,” Germany explained. “They are beautiful things, and similarly, you are also beautiful. It’s not about your looks so much as it is the things I feel towards you. It's as if all of those joyful experiences have been rolled into one man. Does that make sense?”

“Oh…” Italy said, finding himself speechless, because he  _did_  understand. Heat was rising into his cheeks, and a smile slowly broke across his face.

“Italy?”

“Yes! I understand!” Italy clapped his hands in delight. “Germany, that’s so romantic!” Overcome with the urge to hug him, he bounced up from a sitting position, toppling into Germany's lap and throwing his arms around his neck.

As shy as ever, Germany carefully returned the enthusiastic embrace, gently pressing his mouth to the top of Italy's head to let him know that he was smiling too.

\--------

That night in bed, with Germany asleep beside him, Italy drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He could not stop thinking about Germany's compliment. It wasn’t as if Italy hadn't been called 'beautiful' before. It was just a silly name, a word Italy had already heard from too many people to count; whispered into his ear during passionate moments without any meaning behind it.

Somehow it sounded much different when Germany said it.

The frank sincerity of his tone had been anything but seductive, but Italy could not picture it any other way. Germany had never been the same type of passionate that Italy was, constantly throwing around words and gestures of affection. Germany was always blunt and assertive, speaking as if he were stating a fact, and saving his compliments and words of love for the times he meant them the most.

 _“You are beautiful,"_ he had said.

 _"You are just as lovely and breathtaking as all the joys of my life put together. A wholesome beauty I cherish above all else; an unconditional adoration,"_ was the implication, and Italy could feel his heart beating faster at the realization.

_You and I both know it, so how could it be anything but the truth?_

 

 


End file.
